


We Will Be

by SuperNerd (Regina_Lupus)



Series: We Will Be [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Third Choice, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ensemble Cast, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress, spoilers everywhere, too many tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regina_Lupus/pseuds/SuperNerd
Summary: HIATUS NOTICE: This is a super delayed notice but this story is on an update hiatus. I have the next chapter in drafting, and will be drafting a few after that before upload so I don’t end up going forever without an update again. Thank you for your patience.It was a strange feeling that washed over her. Kind of tingling, almost to the point of being ticklish. It seemed to increase as time passed and became almost painful. It was like the feeling of her arm when she’d wake up after sleeping on it funny, only to roll over and have it flop uselessly to the side: dead weight. It was like that, but everywhere. It was kind of scary really. It furthered the confusion that seemed to be driven to overtake all her thoughts.There were so many questions, and absolutely no answers right now.





	1. The White Room

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Life Is Strange Hospital Ending AU that I’ve been debating about posting for I don’t even know how long at this point. It’s mostly because I tried something a little different so as a result I’m overthinking hella too much and freaking myself out. Anyway! Feedback appreciated, and if I’m feeling it I’ll write definitely write more.
> 
> Random note, this is probably the longest single thing I’ve ever written. I’m trying to do more of this because I don’t feel like I write in enough detail.

It was a strange feeling that washed over her. Kind of tingling, almost to the point of being ticklish. It seemed to increase as time passed and became almost painful. It was like the feeling of her arm when she’d wake up after sleeping on it funny, only to roll over and have it flop uselessly to the side: dead weight. It was like that, but everywhere. It was kind of scary really. It furthered the confusion that seemed to be driven to overtake all her thoughts.

Where was she? What had happened? None of her memories really made that much sense, and some of them were as terrifying as the tingly pain dancing over her skin. Or, were they just dreams? Were they really even memories? What had happened? What was wrong with her now? She was able to recognize that this tingly feeling wasn’t something she should be feeling this prominently.

Slowly, like they were fading in, other feelings registered. There was a tiny pinprick of pressure in what she assumed was her arm. Or maybe it was her side? She tried to open her eyes, only to realize that she couldn’t. A new wave of panic flooded her. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong. She couldn’t move, her eyes couldn’t open and the dreamlike memories were calling to her again. She couldn’t relive them again. She tried to fight, tried to find her body, but it was like she was there and not there at all.

Then a new pressure registered, and her panic was dulled momentarily by more confusion. This touch was close to the pinprick feeling, and it was all encompassing. Something was wrapped around her hand, maybe? This one was different though, barring its encompassing effect. This touch was deeper, warmer and somehow familiar. It was strangely comforting. Why?

“Max.” The voice rang out in her head, clear as a bell and like a breath of fresh air. She recognized it immediately.

‘Chloe!’ She wanted to scream it, to throw her arms around her best friend and hold her tight. There were so many questions...

She tried to speak, but she didn’t hear her own voice so she had to assume she’d failed to get the words out. Where even was her tongue right now? It was like she couldn’t even place where her head physically was.

“The, uh, the doctor said to assume you could hear us and talk to you.” Chloe’s voice sounded wrong. It was a little hazy around the edges, but that’s not what Max noticed first. It sounded so tired, so sad. So afraid. She fought her unresponsive body once more. This time, when it failed to comply, she was more frustrated than afraid.

Chloe’s sniffle recaptured her attention, and the frustration at the whatever that was going on with her increased. “Don’t really know what to say though, dude. Um, I guess, your parents are coming down from Seattle as soon as they can. They’ll probably be hella surprised when they see me.”

Chloe laughed then, but just like her voice the sound was too laden with grief to sound right. Max wanted to laugh with her, to agree but at the same time hold Chloe tight and tell her it would be fine. Her dad would likely tease her about the blue hair but-

Wait.

Why would Chloe have blue hair? Why were her parents coming down from Seattle? Why was Chloe so upset? When had Max finally got up the guts to find and reconnect with Chloe again? Why was she only getting more questions than answers!

“I can’t believe you.” Once again, Chloe caught her attention. Her tone agreed with her words. She tried to sound flippant when she spoke again. There was still too much sadness. “You have so much explaining to do when you wake up, Caulfield.”

‘But I don’t even know what’s going on!’ She shouted desperately in her own head, hoping that her damn tongue would finally work right. It didn’t.

Warmth suddenly blossomed against Max’s vague physical body. Higher up than her.. arm. Was that her head? What now? More questions to add to the ever growing list.

“Please wake up, Max.” If her tone was anything to go on, she was crying. Max couldn’t decide if she was more confused or more desperate.

‘I’m... asleep? This doesn’t feel like sleeping.’ She tried to focus on Chloe again, but all she could hear were muffled sniffles. They were growing more distant.

She... opened her eyes? Or maybe she just started noticing the room she was standing in. It was completely white, astonishingly plain. The only thing that stood out was the human shaped black mass that was slowly approaching her from her side, just registered out of the corner of her eye.

Panic. Pure, unrivaled panic flooded through her and she tried to run. Everything within her told her to run, to find Chloe again. Chloe had to mean safety. Chloe had to be safe. But her dream-self was as defiant as her physical-self (which she could no longer feel) and she stood frozen in place. Her eyes closed as the thing neared, and reached for her.

Everything was cold for awhile after that. She was stumbling through weird dreams again. Some of them made no sense at all, others seemed almost coherent enough to be actual memories. All of them had familiar faces. Kate, Warren, Victoria, Taylor, Courtney, Brooke, Joyce, most of the people she knew, in fact. And Chloe, blue haired, tattooed and rebellious, but... completely normal that way. There was no surprise in Max’s mind when she saw this Chloe. Max would have preferred being surprised.

Most of these memory-dreams were horrific in some way.

Kate jumping off the dormitory roof, looping as if played on repeat. Max too late to help her. Victoria subjected to... something. Something terrible and ending up stone cold and buried next to Rachel Amber. The ‘something terrible’ never seemed to be elaborated on. Max tried to push that dream, but it felt like she was pushing against a steel wall. She saw Warren, Joyce, everyone she knew and familiar strangers mangled, each death worse than the last. With some, Max could only tell who was who by the eyes following her, accusatory, as she walked through this dream-memory-nightmare.

Then Chloe...

Chloe with a bullet in her stomach, shot too close for it to be survivable then abandoned to bleed out on a filthy bathroom floor. Chloe, vibrant and excited, then suddenly horrified and looking to Max with panic in her eyes as a bullet bounces just right and strikes her in the chest. Chloe, trapped and terrified, screaming for Max as a train bears down on her. Max is too late. Chloe, blonde this time, and paralyzed from the neck down. Dying slowly and constantly in pain, asking Max to help her sleep forever and end her suffering. Max doesn’t have it in her to say no. Chloe, blue again, with yet another bullet would. This time, it’s in her head and she falls backwards and things get dark for Max as she struggled through the end of that one with a violent passion.

Chloe dying in so many horrible ways. Max felt sick, or thought she felt sick? Mentally felt sick? She couldn’t sense her body but for some reason that was not as surprising as she thought it probably should be. Only one thing mattered to her right now. She knew she had to find Chloe again, had to make sure she was okay. She’d been talking to her before, when she could sort of feel her body, or had that been a dream too? Fear tightened her chest (or the illusion of her chest?).

What if Chloe was actually dead?

Another flare of panic shot through her and suddenly everything was too much. Everything was too real. She ran hard, ignoring the accusatory glares and a voice that sounded oddly like hers saying horrible things that she didn’t want to hear. Saying that all this death was her fault, that she’d failed everyone that meant anything to her. That she’d failed in keeping Chloe safe. She failed as a friend in every opportunity.

She had to find Chloe and that’s all that mattered. Chloe was all that mattered. A second voice cut through her mind. The voice was deep, a man’s, and it sent a wave of violent revolution through her. She couldn’t place it. She only knew she had to be away from it now, that she had to find Chloe because Chloe was her safe harbor. Chloe would protect her, and Max would protect Chloe.

Then, a third voice. But this one confused her. It was muffled, like she was hearing it from underwater. Even with that hindrance she knew the voice was familiar. Warmth rushed through her and her eyes fell closed. Silence washed over her and she felt like she was floating, or maybe falling. She’d kicked off the ground mid-run and was just suddenly weightless. When she opened her eyes again, she was alone in the white room once more.

So, that was all... a dream? Or is this a dream?

“Oh, Max. My baby girl.” There was the voice again, but she could recognize it this time. It was her mother, still a little distant but clear enough to understand. She sounded like she was crying.

Wait, how did they get here so quickly? Chloe had just told her they were coming. Was that... minutes ago or hours? Days? It felt like any option was viable at this point. It felt like no time had passed and yet time had flown by. Her mind was in knots and focusing was becoming an exhausting effort. Maybe she should sleep, but wasn’t she already sleeping? She couldn’t keep track of anything anymore. She just wanted some rest.

Her parents were taking turns talking to her, but trying to put meanings to the words to make anything make proper sense felt like a Herculean effort. The white room was becoming black, but slowly, like her eyelids were drooping closed as she drifted into a peaceful sleep. Nothing came for her that time. She was so tired...

The white room came back into focus what felt like moments later, furthering her confusion. Time didn’t seem to flow like normal in her head anymore. It’s disorienting, but she can’t focus on that right now. She can just hear Chloe’s voice again. She needed to focus on that, on the fact that Chloe’s alive and her dream-memories were liars. Hopefully. Unless this is a dream too.

She shoved that thought away.

“-think your mom likes me too much,” Chloe said. Max struggled to find context, but thought she understood. “She keeps giving me this weird side eye whenever I’m in here with you.”

‘Why?’ Max wanted to ask. Of course, that doesn’t happen.

“Pretty sure she’s expecting me to-“ Chloe cut herself off and went quiet. Max wanted to squirm and tell her to keep talking. She wanted to grab Chloe’s hand and hold it tight, anything to prove that this wasn’t just another dream. That Chloe was actually alive and well, sitting next to her.

Warm pressure wrapped around what she recognized as her hand now, almost like Chloe had read her mind. As if to further that point, she started talking again.

“You, uh, you remember how we met when we were little?” Confusion wrapped around Max’s mind at the subject change, but she tried to keep up. “I like, pretty much ran you over.”

In a flash Max did remember. She was minding her own business one moment, then the next she knew she was on the ground in a tangled heap. A moment of struggling had them face to face. Chloe had looked dazed, and Max could only assume that she had as well. The older girl recovered first, blonde hair a mess and grinning wide as she cried, “You’re it!” She was up and running before Max had properly processed what had happened. It took her a moment, but she remembered she was suppose to be chasing the other girl. She’d quickly scrambled to her feet to do just that.

Max wanted to smile, to laugh with Chloe and ask if that attack had been planned or simply a snap decision. Going off the dazed look and the simple fact that it was Chloe, Max had to assume the impromptu game of tag was completely impulsive. She wanted to thank Chloe for running her over that day.

“Hit and run: dorky kid style,” Chloe said with genuine happiness. Max wanted to share this moment, actually be in it instead of just in this weird white room in her head while her body refused to listen to her. “Man, that feels like forever ago.”

It did feel like forever ago, especially since Max wasn’t actually sure what day it was or how she’d gotten here quite yet. Everything with Chloe felt like forever ago. Their dorky pirate days, countless sleepovers staying up later than they should, times spent comforting each other or sharing secrets. Everything felt so distant, and Max was sadden by it. Guilt rose sharply in her chest, reminding her of the five year gap of silence where she’d been too afraid to even text her best friend. She knew without being told that, that had to have hurt Chloe deeply. But then, why was she here? Talking like no time had passed at all, holding her hand, asking her to wake up (she was working on that). She wanted to ask how Chloe could forgive her.

A strange sound grazed her awareness, but Max couldn’t pinpoint it. Whatever it was caused Chloe to go quiet and still, so Max decided she wasn’t happy with the whatever-it-was.

“Any changes?” Another, much deeper voice asked. Obviously a man. A wave of revulsion passed through Max before she recognized her father’s voice. Only then did she question the reaction.

“No,” Chloe said softly, sounding defeated. Her hand squeezed around the numbed ache that was her own. Max wanted to scream, cry out, but her body just wouldn’t listen. She was starting to feel trapped.

She heard her dad sigh, then another deep, warm pressure landed on the assumed opposite wrist to the hand Chloe was holding so tightly. It was disconcerting because she couldn’t do anything about it. She didn’t really want to pull away, but knowing that she couldn’t made her a little antsy.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said it softly. Max almost missed it, and apparently so did her dad as he gave a hum of questioning. Or maybe he was prompting her to explain. Max wasn’t sure, but she hoped Chloe would explain. After a few moments of silence, she did. “I’m sorry for... for getting her shot.”

‘Wait, what?’ Her mind buffered against the information, trying to find questions that it answered only to bring up more questions. More questions, less answers...

“Chloe,” her father sounded disapproving. Max flinched (mentally flinched?) at the tone. “You didn’t. What happened... No one can predict things like that. It’s not your fault.”

Chloe’s hand tightened. Her nerves sparked to life. Then, just like before, a memory came to her. She was in the bathroom again, Nathan was ranting at Chloe and she thought she was once again trapped in that nightmare. But then she stepped out from her corner. She tried to talk Nathan out of it, but he’d been too far gone and too frantic. Max doesn’t remember pain. She remembered guessing what was about to happen and bracing herself. She remembered a pop and a scream that was not her own, then the tile floor had bitten into her knees and Chloe’s arms were wrapped around her. She had the vague impression that she said something, but her mind had gone into overdrive at that point. All she could clearly recall was Chloe’s arms, and her frantic voice.

She tried to focus on Chloe’s voice again, or whoever it was that was talking at that moment, but she was being quickly drawn back into her mind. Colors swirled in front of her, solidifying into images and finally into scenes. Some of them were similar to her nightmare dream-memories, but they were more... real. They played out like proper memories. They were too real to be her imagination. Too detailed yet simultaneous not detailed enough.

The same scene played again, instead this time, she reached out and... turned back time. She remembers experimenting with this by herself, then saving Chloe by tripping the fire alarm. Reuniting in the parking lot, Chloe’s room, the junkyard, the night at Blackwell and the morning after, the investigation, the alternate timeline, then... Then...

Tendrils of black dread wrapped around her mind, sending panic through her. The ‘something terrible’ that happened to Victoria in the dream-memory was all too clear. Drugged and posed, used as a completely unwilling model and dying by an overdose. Then the hazy blackness that came after the nightmare of Chloe being shot in the head made sense. Drugged, and posed against her will by the person that she had looked up to. Details surfaced and blinded her mind. Everything was hazy from her time in the Dark Room, but she could still remember too much. His words pierced her, turned her stomach and made her want to scream. The feeling of being trapped intensified. She felt as if she were mentally running, screaming, away from her own body.

What followed that was even more nightmares, capped off by standing by the lighthouse with Chloe. Both watching as her storm destroyed Arcadia Bay. Then a photo, a kiss, and a promise that Max would never forget her. Chloe hadn’t given her a choice, yet Max had made her own choice. Then she was back in the bathroom again and the very first memory played on a loop.

_“Don’t you forget about me, Chloe Price.”_

Everything felt like a million years ago, but at the same time it felt like it had just happened. Sometimes, as the memories dominated her mind, she felt like they were happening right at that moment. Some of it was hell to relive, but other things made her heart flutter (maybe?) and turned the entire nightmare into something that was completely worth it. Every moment spent with an actually happy Chloe, the kiss on Wednesday morning, even the kiss by the lighthouse, was worth everything that had apparently happened. But that left one question, one crucial question, still unanswered. One question that Max would likely never understand the answer to.

‘How have you forgiven me?’ She wants to cry, beg the question of Chloe and apologize for vanishing when she needed her most. She hated herself for it, beat herself up for it for years and managing to convince herself that Chloe was better off without her. She was wrong, she was so wrong and didn’t understand why Chloe had forgiven her so quickly.

Alternate Chloe? Even this Chloe seemed to hold nothing against her. Max may have been monumentally confused, but she wasn’t stupid. There was a lot of pain there and it wasn’t healed. It was covered, hidden in hopes that out of sight would indeed mean out of mind. She needed to be there this time, actually be there. She needed-

The weird tingling came back. Stronger this time, but everything felt hazy still. The needling pinprick of pressure in her wrist suddenly struck her as too similar to the needle of Jefferson’s syringe and her mind recoiled against it, telling her to get away. When things started to clear, she became aware of several other things. Things that eased her as much as perplexed her.

The heat encompassing her hand was familiar, but now she could tell it was a hand holding hers. She could feel the air passing through her lungs. She could feel the cool air against her arms, a sharp contract to the warmth surrounding her hand. She could feel the softness of the mattress under her, the weight of something else pressed into it at her side. She could hear the steady beeping of something at her other side, the even breathing and soft snoring of someone near the extra weight on the mattress. She could smell the oddest combination of the distinct hospital smell (sterile, her mind helpfully supplied as an afterthought), the subtle scent of cigarette smoke and slightest hint of the body spray she somehow knew Chloe used.

It felt strange, and she didn’t understand it at first. Why was all this suddenly coming to her? Then she felt a muscle in her leg twitch from not being used for however long. It hit her then that she could feel her body again. She could sense the world around her clearly again. She was in control of herself again.

She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.


	2. Rewind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is finally here! Sorry it’s taken so long. This one is a bit shorter than the first but it’s still over 1,000 words which is my new personal limit on chapter length. I wanted to continue, but I didn’t want to drag it out too long. As always, thoughts are appreciated. :)

She almost screamed in frustration when the first thing she saw was a white wall. But it wasn’t the same as the one she’d been trapped in within her own headspace. That one had been bright, almost blinding, and completely plain. This one was dulled by nighttime shadows and had sparse decorations. Nothing specific, just generic pictures and paintings. That didn’t help the confusion that still gnawed at her mind, twisting the relief she felt at actually being able to move into fear that kept her still. 

What if this was another dream? In the odd memories she’d been able to physically feel things, to an extent. She had assumed that was more remembered sensation, but what if this was just another one? She made herself focus on her physical body again, deliberately flexing muscles, twitching her toes and focusing on the things she could feel in detail. The remembered sensations had rarely been this detailed, each clench of muscle was reassuring.

When she tensed the muscles in her abdomen, a sharp pain ripped through her body. She hissed and clenched her eyes shut on mere instinct rather than conscious thought. The pain faded quickly enough, much to her relief, but it left behind a dull ache. It was probably the most reassuring thing she’d ever felt in her entire life.

Then, it was quickly degraded to the second most reassuring. The familiar hand wrapped around her own more tightly as if demanding her attention. The sudden pressure made her jump, before she remembered vaguely what had been happening. She turned her head, a little too fast, and was able to just make out Chloe’s hopeful expression and disheveled appearance before a wide grin broke across her face. Even with the grin, she looked almost like she thought she was dreaming.  

If that was the case, then Max could definitely relate to the feeling. She drank in ever detail of her long lost best friend. Her features were sharper now, longer. Her hair was shorter, mussed up from sleeping and bright blue instead of the strawberry blonde of her young self. She looked just like she did in Max’s dreamlike memories. Right down to the (slightly crooked) beanie that hid what Max could only assume was the sneaky blonde roots. She had dark circles under her eyes, hinting toward a lack of decent sleep. 

Chloe looked like she wanted to speak, but could think of nothing to say. Max didn’t blame her one bit. She had sort of hoped Chloe would know what to say though, given that Max wasn’t entirely sure what had actually happened yet. Chloe looked like her dream-memories, so did that mean the rest of them were true? That couldn’t be though, because Chloe had died in so many of them and she was clearly here right now. Max assumed, based on the pain in her side, that the one about her getting shot was true at the least. But... 

Her head was starting to hurt, and she was suddenly aware once again of Chloe. The older teen was looking a little disheartened now and Max began to panic a little.

“I, uh... I look a little different,” the punk started, actually looking a little embarrassed. “I thought, that...” 

That’s when Max realized she’d probably just been staring and saying nothing for who knows how long. Heat filled her cheeks, and she cursed herself silently.

“N-no, I recognize you,” she rushed the reassure, weakly squeezing the hand still wrapped in her own. “You can’t fool me that easily, Chloe.”

The grin returned and her shoulders relaxed. The image struck Max’s mind as odd, but before she could put enough of her seemingly half-functioning mind into figuring out why, Chloe was speaking again.

“Fucking good!” She sounded elated. “And you haven’t changed one bit in like five years. Well, except for some serious balls and a new... scar.”

Four things hit her at once then. One, she’d not contacted Chloe once in five years and that’s why her elation was so odd. Two, she definitely had been shot so that dream-memory was at least true. Three, all of Chloe’s happiness bled out of her the moment she uttered the word scar. Four, this was too much to take in right now and it felt like millions of needles were poking into her brain at once. She closed her eyes and tried to speak, but words failed her. Her ears started to ring and she just barely caught the beginnings of Chloe saying something before everything went quiet and dark.

She didn’t know how long it had been until she was able to open her eyes again, but she felt more rested, more real. None of the dream-memories had surfaced again.  She started hearing the constant beeping of whatever she was hooked up to, then began to feel the weight of the blanket over her, the tape and numbed needle prick in her wrist. Her minded reeled against that sensation, but she was just aware enough to assume that it was the reason the ache in her side wasn’t much worse, so she tolerated it for now.

The last thing she processed: the warmth of Chloe’s hand was missing.

Something akin to desperation had her eyes open in the next second, scanning the room for any signs of her friend. She barely registered the voice that called her name until a pair of arms wrapped tightly around her. There was a split second of confusion before she recognized her mother holding her. She was saying something, but Max’s mind seemed like a fuzzy TV signal. She had to blink several times to finally focus her vision. Her mother’s concerned yet relieved expression was the first thing she saw. 

“Mom?” She tried to speak. The word came out, but it was rough and throaty. Her throat felt scratchy, either from thirst or sleep she couldn’t tell. It could have been both honestly.

“Oh my baby,” she cooed softly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so happy your awake. We were all so worried!”

Max blinked slowly, still fighting the fuzz in her head. About fifty questions were trying to race to her tongue at once. She wasn’t able to tell which was the most pressing. She slowly looked around the room, seeing no one else and no answer in the air, before looking back at her mother.

“All?” It seemed stupid to ask that, for some reason. Surely there were other more important questions to ask.

Her mom simply smiled. “Your dad is down in the cafeteria getting some lunch. Joyce came by earlier to check on you and drag Chloe home.”

A small smile spread across Max’s face. So Chloe had been here at least. That was another question answered, another bit of reality confirmed in her head. The dreams were swirling in her mind, bringing more questions and less answers. She didn’t know what to ask first, or what her mom would be able to answer, but she had to knowing something before she went insane from the images of friends dying repeatedly and the sense that it was her fault.

She cleared her throat and looked back to her mom. “What... happened?”

The smile on her mom’s face faded a little, and she seemed conflicted for a moment. “Well, I don’t know how much I should tell you. You... took a bullet for Chloe. The student who shot you was caught, and confessed to several things. There’s been a lot about it on the news. You’ve been out for about a week.” 

“A week?” She hadn’t realized she’d said anything until her mom nodded in the affirmative. It had felt like so much longer than that.  Her last (first?) conversation with Chloe felt like a week ago alone. Her head started throbbing again, but she didn’t really feel tired anymore. Before she could even think to ask anymore of her questions, the door to her room opened to reveal her dad and a doctor.

It was hard to focus on what all happened afterward. The headache made focusing difficult. She was asked questions, poked with more needles that made her want to run and then taken away for more tests of various descriptions that she couldn’t even begin to process at the moment. By the time she was back in her room, she was too tired to keep her eyes open anymore. 

After waking up again for the third time, Max was beginning to find sleep a little ridiculous. She wasn’t having many of the odd dreams, though a few less stressful ones cropped up here and there, but how was she still tired enough to sleep after apparently sleeping for a week? She was starting to get use to not understanding what was going on around her, which was getting increasingly stressful in and of itself. She did notice though that each time she woke again, the world seemed to settle much more quickly than the last. 

This time, when her eyes opened, the world cane into focus much more quickly. It only took her a moment to notice Chloe standing by the window of her room. Her back was to Max’s bed, and she seemed anxious. Max wanted to say something to break the ice and get her attention, but her throat was still parched so she ended up coughing weakly despite herself.

Chloe jumped and whirled around to look at her. The surprise was gone immediately as a wide smile broke across her face. She rushed forward, taking Max’s hand without seeming to think much of it.

“Morning, Mad Max!” She was trying to sound upbeat, but Max still knew her better than anyone else. There was concern in her voice, and her eyes. “Well, afternoon. Close enough. You gonna pass out on us again?” 

Max could prod and dig for answers to her questions, but for now she didn’t want to. There was a lot between them that seemed far more important. So, instead of launching into a barrage of questions, she simply smiled.

“Hopefully not.” She cringed at the harshness of her voice. Clearing her throat, she continued. “I’m kind of sick of sleeping.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m hella tired.”

Max didn’t doubt that, but before she could reply Chloe was reaching to help her sit up. She was confused for a moment, but complied. Once up, Chloe handed her a glass of water from the bedside table. She took it without second thought and drank deeply. She couldn’t remember anything tasting so good ever in her life. Before she knew it the glass was empty. She still felt thirty, but she felt so much better.

“Damn,” Max sighed, passing the empty glass into Chloe’s outstretched hand. “How did I not die of dehydration?”

Chloe snickered, leaning over to tap something outside of her line of sight as she sat herself on the bed by Max’s legs. Max glanced over quickly to see the bag, slightly swaying now, that was likely connected to her through the annoying needle in her wrist. She quickly looked back to Chloe though. Not looking at her... Well, for some reason things made more sense when she could see her radically changed childhood best friend. 

“They’ve been giving you water and shit the same way they’re keeping you hopped up on morphine,” she elaborated. It wasn’t needed, but Max assumed she was just trying to fill the silence.

However, it fitted between them both shortly after. At a loss, Chloe refocused her gaze to the window. Her eyes though, would flick back to Max regularly; as if checking she were still awake, still _there._ Guilt rose to her throat again. The silence between them was heavier than a single moment, weighted down by five years and dramatic reintroduction. Max’s heart broke, the guilt working itself around her neck to choke her once again. She need to apologize. She needed to make this right. She needed Chloe to know that she’d never been forgotten, that Max had continued to love her.

She needed to say too much. All she managed to get out was a half-chocked, “I’m sorry.” 

It was when Chloe looked at her that she realized her vision was blurred around the edges. Wet warmth was trailing down her cheeks, and Chloe looked as shocked to see it as Max was to feel it. She scooted closer, intertwined their fingers once again. 

“Dude, why?” She said softly. “You have like nothing to apologize for.” 

She felt anger rise in her chest, but she couldn’t tell if it was aimed at herself for being such a terrible friend or Chloe for forgiving her so easily. “I abandoned you for five years. I should have called, or begged my parents to let me visit, or... or something! I should have tried harder. How can you forgive me so easily?” 

She didn’t really mean to say that last part, but there was no taking it back now.

Chloe looked caught off guard, but quickly straightened her spine. When she spoke, she sounded completely sure and only slightly defensive. “Yeah, you could have called. Would have been nice. But that doesn’t matter anymore. You took a fucking bullet for me. You hella saved my life.” 

She was about to make her rebuttal when suddenly the world was overlaid with a flurry of images. A blue butterfly perched on a bucket. A hammer, a fire alarm. Broken bottles and a stray bullet in a junkyard. Train tracks and Chloe clutching onto her like a vice as the train flew by. Chloe, blonde and in pain, silently begging her for death. A shadowy figure barely distinguishable in a field of blackness, Chloe’s body falling lifeless to the ground. A monstrous storm looming toward them, threatening them and everything they knew.

Then, as if whispered from the most unfathomable depths of her mind.

_Rewind, rewind, rewind...._

She blinked several times, her vision once again focusing on Chloe. She was looking down now, her eyes closed tight. When she began to speak again, her voice was shaking.

“I was mad at you for so fucking long, just for everything. I tried to pretend that I didn’t care, but I still think of you as my best friend. I almost lost you for good last week.” She looked up then, wet eyes open as tears fell unchecked. “I don’t fucking care how long it’s been or who did what anymore. I just want you back. I miss you.”

Max pushed herself into a more upright position, ignoring the ache in her side. Chloe, it seemed, had read her mind. She reached for her and the next thing Max knew they were wrapped in each other’s arms for the first time in too long. Feeling the solid press of Chloe’s body, smelling the oddly comforting mixture of smoke and cologne, hearing Chloe’s shaky breaths as her tears fell unchecked, it all made the world seen that much more real. In this moment, even with a growing pain in her side and tears in her eyes, the world was right.

Yet, the disembodied whisper sounded again.

_Rewind, rewind, rewind...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer, I’m not sure if Chloe’s response at the end makes sense. I personally feel like it does, but I’m sorry if she slipped out of character a bit. At this point, the poor girl’s been through a lot so she’s allowed an off day.


	3. The Other I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like the final FNAF games this skewed into some really weird directions, but I don’t think we’ll need to start FanFiction Theorists so that’s something! Anyway, this did go kind of strange but I found the though of combining the Butterfly Effecf with Schrödinger's cat too interesting not to mess around with it. Hopefully I did well!

Chloe stayed with her that night. She’d told Max’s parents that it was for their sake. Apparently they’d been taking turns spending the night at the hospital while Max was sleeping. Max suspected Chloe had taken a few turns herself, and there really was no need for anyone to stay with her now that she was fully conscious (according to the doctor), but her grip on Max’s hand said it all. She wanted to stay because she didn’t want to leave; plain and simple. Max knew it, and she suspected so did her parents, as they posed no argument. Max never felt more grateful for them in her entire life.

They passed the time reminiscing instead of catching up. The past was less painful to relive now that they were together again. The present was a minefield of uncertainty and Max found herself being more afraid the longer she put off talking about it. The gaps in her memory, the insistence of something in her subconscious that there was something fundamentally different about the world around her, the sneaking shadow she saw out of the corner of her eye if she paid too much attention, it was all too much. Talking to Chloe again and reliving their days as dorky pirates with sticks for swords made sense. They’d have to talk about it eventually, but not right now.

The sun had barely begun to set, but Max could tell how exhausted Chloe was. She was astonished to find that she was somehow still tired herself.

“You can go home, if you want to sleep in your bed,” she offered unwillingly. The chairs in the room didn’t seem comfortable to sit in let alone sleep in. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Chloe scoffed, pulled a mock offended look. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Caulfield.”

She meant a celebrate that silently, but if the resulting smirk from Chloe was any indicator, her sigh had been as relieved as she’d felt instead of the playful exasperation she was going for. Thankfully for what self-esteem Max had left, Chloe didn’t comment. She squeezed Max’s hand tight before releasing it and moving to the most comfortable looking chair in the room. She settled pretty quickly, like it was familiar to her, though she still had her head angled toward Max, who in turn was watching her.

Chloe fell asleep first, but try as she might Max couldn’t. That voice bounced around her head again, repeating the word ‘rewind’ like it was the most significant word in the English language right now. Then there was that sneaky shadow trying to get her attention. It lingered at her side, watching her, waiting for her to acknowledge it. Something deep in her gut told her not to, told her that it was something very, very dangerous. She listened, she ignored it and tried to remember where it had come from, what was real and what was not.

The flood of dreams that came before she’d woken up resurfaced, gently this time, in her mind. They had seemed so real before, but now she couldn’t understand them. How could they be real? Chloe had died so many times... Even in those dreams she was inconsistently alive, but she was very much here now. Max was fairly certain that _this_ was real. She tried to think harder, remembering the images that had briefly overtaken her vision earlier.

The fire alarm matched up with one of the dreams, Chloe’s... first death. Then, the bottles. She couldn’t find a dream they matched up with perfectly, but was able to tie it to Chloe’s ‘second’ death through a few context clues. Then the train, easily the ‘third’ death. Then, Chloe was nineteen still, but blonde and paralyzed. Nothing about this particular memory made sense to her, but her mind was very persistent about it. That Chloe had died too, by Max’s hand at her request. Her ‘fourth’ death had been the most peaceful. Then, the darkest of them all. This one, her ‘fifth’ death, was in the junkyard where the bottles had been. She’d been shot in the head, right in front of Max, falling limp and lifeless as Max was taken away.

But... how could any of this add up? A person can’t die more than once. She tried to dig and find the missing pieces, but nothing that made sense surfaced. There was still the image of her turning back time, which seemed to pair appropriately with the insistent ‘rewind’ comment that she kept hearing. But that made about as much sense as a person dying five times. Time travel was science fiction, something she’d find in a movie on Warren’s flash drive of pirated films. It made even less sense if it was just her that could do it. Why her, of all people?

And, she found herself right back to where she started. So, so many questions and really no answers. She could fit some pieces together, but the puzzle was still too incomplete to make sense of. There were other dreams, but they didn’t help her much. They were far more pleasant to think about though. Especially the dream of a lazy morning in Chloe’s now punk explosion of a room, a dare and a kiss. Max found herself... longing for that, but quickly shook that thought away. Those feelings had to remain buried.

When she looked back at Chloe, a thought struck her. _“Raise your right hand.”_

It was her voice that spoke it at least, so she wasn’t completely crazy yet. Still though, she didn’t understand it. Raise her right hand for what? Again, though more insistently this time, the rewind chant sounded three times. This time it sent a shudder through her. Not just from the vehemence of the voice, but because it... seemed like it had intentionally answered her thought question.

She could hear her heart picking up, from the beeping of the heart monitor at her side, so she took a few deep breaths in hopes of calming it. She felt like she was going crazy. Something was clearly going on that some part of her thought she needed to know, or had her short coma actually damaged her brain in some way that the doctors didn’t know about? Even more questions, even less answers.

She closed her eyes, still ignoring the shadow trying to get her attention, and thought in a deliberate attempt to get her brain-self to talk again if it did indeed exist, _“Am I going crazy?”_

There was silence, for awhile, long enough that Max felt herself start to drift off to sleep. The silence in her head and the steady flow of Chloe’s breath through her lungs outside of it (with the occasional soft snore), was a soothing combination. She’d almost forgot her question, happy to let it be and try to piece things together later.

Then, _“No.”_  

Her eyes shot open, her heart picked up again and for a second she had to wonder if she really had gone completely insane. Unless she was dreaming right now, her mind had just replied directly to her through a thought. She knew _she_ hadn’t thought it. She tensed the muscles in her side, the sharp pain shot through her abdomen before dulling to the ever present ache again. It hurt too much to be a dream, and that wasn’t comforting in the slightest. 

_“Who are you?”_ She thought before she could really stop herself. She wasn’t really sure she wanted to know, but she was just desperate enough for any answers at all to care too much.

A memory flashed in her mind, one that somehow wasn’t hers and somehow was. She hadn’t seen this one before. She was kneeling on the ground by the lighthouse, looking up at Chloe and pleading with her to believe her. She felt the fear of being alone with the knowledge of impending doom, the desperation to have someone on her side, the absolute surety that the someone she needed was Chloe, and the overwhelming relief when Chloe didn’t immediately turn away and call her crazy. She felt everything like it was her own experience, but she knew it couldn’t be.

_“You.”_

_“So I am crazy,”_ she thought blankly, staring toward the white wall again. The other-Max answered again, the reply as simple and as sure as all others before. 

_“No.”_

_“How am I not?”_ She challenged. _“I’m talking to myself, in my head, aren’t I?”_

There was silence again, but Max was focusing so far inward that she could... feel other-Max nestled in the back of her mind. It was the strangest sensation she’d ever felt. She wasn’t alone in her head, but it was another her in her head? It wasn’t _her_ , but it was her. At this point, Max was starting to wonder again if this wasn’t some elaborate, vivid dream. Or if she had actually died and was in some weird purgatory judgement zone. She was about to tense her side again, when another flood of images came.

She was at the Two Whales with Chloe, a series of events played out and then she raised her right hand. The world moved in reverse, she painted the scenes for Chloe’s eager ears, then watched everything unfold again just as it had the first time. The look on Chloe’s face, the astonishment and joy, the fact that she clearly believed her. This wasn’t some dream or a figment of her imagination. 

This was a memory.

She looked down at her hand, absolutely awestruck. Could she really reverse time? This all seemed too real to not be real, but at the same time it being real maybe absolutely no sense at all. How could any of this be real? She quickly accepted that her conversation with other-Max was not over, and thought of another question to ask.

_“How?”_

The scene that played in her mind was one from the girl’s bathroom. She saw Chloe get shot, then saw her hand reach out and watched everything go in reverse again. The other-Max seemed rushed when she shared this, like she didn’t want to see it again. Max wondered how many times she’d seen it that she wasn’t showing her.

Or...? Damn, this was confusing. 

_“Why?”_

_“We don’t know.”_

_“We?”_

She flashed her a quick image of herself looking in a mirror. It wasn’t from any specific time or place, just a random half-faded memory to convey her point. 

_“Why can you only communicate like this?”_ It was a random question, one that might not have been worth asking, but Max couldn’t stop her curiosity. Any answers were comforting right now. 

Again, she answered with,  _“We don’t know.”_

_“Do we not know because you don’t know or I don’t know?”_

_“We don’t know.”_ It was different this time, tinged with humor. Max had to admit, thinking of her question again, that it was a little funny. It was the most absurd question she’d ever heard, let alone asked.

The seriousness of the next question that popped into her head quickly broke through the humor of it. 

_“Are there others?”_

Flashes of different realities came through her head, too quick to get absorbed in the scenes but quick enough that she could get an idea. Some of them were from memories that Max hadn’t seen, that other-Max had deliberately kept from her. Though it wasn’t necessary, other-Max supplied her with, _“Many.”_

_“Do we know why we’re both here, and not just one of us like in the other... realities?”_ That has to be the case, right? One Max was time jumping, or misplaced, or something. All of the other Maxes had been temporarily hijacked by the time jumper, which was the one currently in her head but not in control.

The response she got wasn’t a thought or a scene or a bundle of images. Instead, it was an intense wave of emotion. Sadness, regret, guilt and confusion. Not only did the time jumper not know, but she didn’t seem to want to or really even care. She’d given up. She was tired, and broken, and far too old for an eighteen year old body. She couldn’t live another life. She didn’t want to.

_“Why come to me then?”_

An image of Chloe’s smiling face flashed in her mind. It was an image from earlier though, when Max had woken up again. It was an image from this reality. And paired with it, was an overwhelming wave of warm emotions. Happiness, contentment, acceptance and love.

Max blinked and looked toward her Chloe for the first time in this entire ordeal that was happening only in her head. She was still fast asleep, looking peaceful and happy. Other-Max’s love flared so intensely that Max felt it in her own chest. It made her heart skip and flutter. She knew what was coming, even before other-Max voiced it.

_“We love her.”_

It was as simple and as complicated as that.

The presence of the other-Max suddenly shifted, pushed further into her mind until she could feel both herself and the other her. It wasn’t a takeover. She just nestled herself a little more completely in Max’s mind. Max didn’t feel like she could completely control herself, but she wasn’t afraid. Other-Max was just as focused on Chloe, her intentions not at all malicious. An image flashed before her eyes, the one where she’d taken the bullet in Chloe’s place.

_“That was my decision,”_ she said apologetically, her voice much clearer and sentences much more complicated now that she was ‘closer.’  _“Technically. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let her die again.”_

_“I’m on your side here.”_ They both could hear the humor in that, though Max was serious. She may not have experienced everything the time jumper had, but Chloe was still important to her. If taking that bullet for her was the only way to ensure her life, then so be it.

Everything was silent then, for several minutes. She wanted the time jumper to be able to see Chloe alive and at peace, for the moment at least. That didn’t stop the questions from needling her, and it turns out that it’s hard to hide your thoughts from someone also in your head. She felt the time jumper stir a bit, then felt a subtle prod into her thoughts. It wasn’t an invasion or a hijacking, but more a nudge to get to hear the thoughts better. She went still as she shuffled through them.

When she decided, Max heard the thought as if it were a random stray thought that passed through her mind. _‘You don’t want to stay?’_

_“No,”_ was the simple answer, but she elaborated after another wave of exhaustion spiritual level. _“I can’t live another life, not on my own. There’s more than what I’ve shown you. I only showed you what I had to so you could understand.”_

_“Why show me at all?”_

Other-Max went quiet again, for a moment, then came a spike of regret. _“It was an accident, at first. Then I had to explain.”_

This next question felt loaded, but it needed to be asked. _“What happens now? Will you go back to your own... timeline?”_

Max knew, just as the time jumper knew, what that would entail. Chloe would die in the bathroom, killed by the bullet Max had taken for her in this time. The time jumper’s soul would remain years older than her body, but her powers would never have manifested and the decision would be forever locked. The pain this brought to them both was almost unbearable, but other-Max had made up her mind.

_“I made this world for Chloe, and for us.”_ There was no stutter in her voice, no shake and no uncertainty. _“She deserves a version of me that isn’t haunted by deaths that never happened. You’ve seen some of what I’ve gone through, but they’re like dreams to you. You can help her in ways I can’t.”_

Max felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t know if they were hers or the time jumper’s. Maybe they were both crying. She didn’t want the time jumper to leave, to not experience the happy ending she fought so hard for, even if she couldn’t live it first hand. If she stayed nestled in the back of Max’s mind she could still see and experience a happy life with a happy Chloe. She was about to propose this idea when a soft wave of happiness overtook her.

What came next was an image; a lone doe standing on a nondescript beach with a familiar blue butterfly perched on her head. The image radiated serenity, and suddenly Max knew everything would be alright. There would be pain, in this time and in any other that alternate Maxes had to live, but for every Max there was a Chloe. The time jumper lost her Chloe, but they’d find each other again somehow. They could never be separated forever. No force was strong enough.

She looked toward Chloe again, and felt awash with love that she allowed herself to feel instead of hurriedly trying to shove it to the back of her mind.

_“Take care of her.”_ The time jumper said, without a doubt in her voice. _“Be happy.”_

Max smiled, felt the time jumper beginning to fade from her mind. Before she could go completely, she thought, _“We will be.”_

The warmth of contentment and hopefulness washed over her, and the room seemed so much nicer. The shadow was gone from her sight. It followed the time jumper, though she was not the slightest bit effected by its presence. The walls didn’t seem so caging or oppressive anymore, and all Max could think about was a future with Chloe that stretched out before her. 

She closed her eyes, and knew that tomorrow would be the start of that future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Arc One of the story! Which was like the introduction/expositional arc because I can’t make anything easy. :D The next chapters are gonna be the good ones with all the juicy character interactions and eventual Pricefield. Thanks for reading and being patient! <3

**Author's Note:**

> My thoughts for this are, after Max goes back again to the start of Hell Week and takes the bullet, her body basically goes into “I need a moment” mode. This sends her into a comatose like state while her mind tries to make things make sense and her body tries to recover from all the time jumping and a bullet wound. I know it’s been done before but eh.
> 
> If I continue this story, it’ll be revolving around Max mentally and physically recovering, maintain friendships, reconnecting with Chloe (again) and will eventually lead to Pricefield because I’m just trash like that. xD Further note, I will try to think of a better summary. I suck at summaries.


End file.
